


Nightmare Simulator

by Nebulad



Series: Mind Over Murder [7]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Angst, F/M, SR4 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10075013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: “He’s dead,” she told Angel, gathering ammo off of bodies.“Who is?”“Johnny. Tony blew his brains out.” He frowned. “I’ve done this a thousand times. This is the first time you’ve been here, but Johnny’s always dead before I even find Tony.”“It’s not real,” he told her, and she shrugged.“Does it matter?”





	

It was only a _little_ insulting that Kinzie and Oleg hadn’t meant to rescue him. “It’s not like we accidentally stumbled into your nightmare. We just… didn’t know you’d be here. Zinyak didn’t give us a list.”

“Not to mention you haven’t exactly been keeping in touch. We didn’t know how many places the Zin had already hit on earth,” Oleg agreed from his chair. That was fair, but Angel had _seen_ the bulletin board with everyone’s names pinned up. He wasn’t even _on_ there. “Fang was pretty sure that they invaded just for her, but you know how she is.”

“Have you saved her yet?” he asked. He knew it sounded— it sounded like a lot of things for a guy who pissed off to Mexico without saying goodbye, or contacting her at all. The last time he’d spoken to a Saint, it’d been in an email to Shaundi. He felt like he had to explain himself— he hadn’t _known_ she was in danger when he called Fang, and had never asked her to walk away from saving her life. All he asked was to go after Killbane and she’d _had_ the manpower to offer him that help and she hadn’t.

In retrospect— with all the shit that’d happened— it felt petty. It hadn’t then but perspective was a bitch.

Kinzie shook her head and as if she’d only just realised she walked away from her computer, she sat back down again. “Not yet. We were looking for her when we found you, but unfortunately Zinyak’s organisational system for the human pods is fucking ridiculous. I mean logically you’d think he’d first organise the pods by species and then go alphabetical—”

“We haven’t ruled that out yet,” Oleg reminded her. “We only need a copy of the Zin alphabet.”

“And decoding is taking forever. So we’ve just kinda of been… hoping to stumble on the right people while we work on that. It’d go faster if Oleg could help, but Zin technology is too small— I don’t know _why,_ because have you _seen_ Zinyak? But whatever. We’re working on finding the Boss and from there she’ll want us to find Pierce, Shaundi, and Viola. After that, she’ll probably have some dumbass plan to murder our way out of this.” She said it almost wistfully.

“How do I help?” He didn’t know shit about computers, so that was out. He didn’t have any experience with languages that didn’t use romanized letters— Oleg did and it didn’t seem to be helping anyway— and as far as he knew, nothing needed to be wrestled.

It occurred to him that he didn’t have his mask anymore. It also occurred to him that it’d taken him almost a full day to notice.

“There’s not much for you to do on the ship unless you think you can figure out how to repair Zin machinery?” He shook his head because he didn’t have a strong grasp on _human_ machinery past enough terminology to keep up with Fang.

“You’ll be helpful when we find another pod. This way we can have at least one person on the alphabet at all times— you can go into the simulation, Kinzie can monitor your progress, and I can keep working.” Oleg seemed pretty satisfied with that conclusion, but Angel suddenly felt like the ship was too small to hold him. If he wasn’t training, wasn’t helping, and wasn’t actively contributing to the emergency situation… then what? Take a nap and hope they found everyone safe?

“I’ll be in the bay.” He said it like he agreed with this whole situation and was ready at a moment’s notice to be thrown back into the simulation… but in reality he just felt kind of sick. And useless. Mostly useless with a side of sickness. Maybe there’d be something to punch in storage.

. . . . .

Five days passed. He only knew because his phone still turned on in space— service didn’t work, but he could routinely check the time. Luckily it seemed that the term _universal charger_ wasn’t an exaggeration, so he wasn’t in danger of losing that small comfort. There were few to be had on the ship— the shower was weird and too high on the wall, the toilets were perplexing to the point of discomfort, and they were definitely on some sort of military vessel because the beds and food were garbage. Oleg had mentioned that they were lucky to be able to eat Zin food at all, but it was a strange kind of fucking luck.

Regardless, Kinzie and Oleg had been searching for an entire business week when they called him up to the main computer room. “We found her,” Oleg announced as soon as Angel got through the door, and within a second he was glued to Kinzie’s computer screen like it meant anything to him.

“Turns out Zin grammar complicates the alphabet, but it doesn’t matter because Zinyak organizes based on favourites. We’ll have to try and find an algorithm to read the pods faster than we’ve been able to, but now that we have an idea it should move faster.” Kinzie looked up at him and he stared back. “Oh. You have to get in the chair,” she added, gesturing to the weird stand-up operating table-looking things.

At least it had a headrest.

“Once you’re inside, you’ll have to find Fang. Be warned that she may not look the way that you perceive her. The simulation draws from _her_ head; her appearance could be based on a younger version of herself, or modified based on how _she_ sees herself,” Oleg instructed, helping him get situated in the chair. In passing, he wondered how the big Russian had actually fit into one of these.

“You might have to neutralize the nightmare before she can get out of it,” Kinzie instructed from her seat. “Which could mean anything from _shoot it ‘til it stops twitching_ to _fix her relationship with her mother.”_

“Her and her mother are close,” he offered, albeit unnecessarily.

“Well there’s one chore off the list. Try not to die.”

. . . . .

He smelled garbage before he even got his eyes open— _bad_ garbage, like… neighbourhood garbage. There was something profoundly different between being in a coincidentally shitty part of an otherwise okay city— his casino in Steelport— versus being in a neighbourhood that the rich part of town was in the process of starving out— wherever the fuck he was right then.

Buildings were dirty and dilapidated. At least three storefronts in his immediate vicinity advertised sales on both diapers and hardcore porn, and if he turned his head— which he was _not_ going to do— he’d probably be able to see the very noisy blowjob taking place on the cracked, uneven sidewalk. He turned (away from the fucking) and started walking.

He had no idea where he was. Logically speaking it had to be Stilwater, because Boss wasn’t big on travelling. The longest trip she’d ever taken was from Mexico _to_ Stilwater, since she wasn’t any sort of fan of flying. There was always something so small about her, despite her actual size. It was like she could drown in single city.

He stopped at a church that’d seen better days— much, much better days— and tried to orient himself. “Kinzie could I get a map or something?” he asked, but there was no response. He should have asked before going into the simulation if he would be able to contact her.

“You lookin’ for somethin’?” There was a kid sitting up on one of the walls a few feet away that he hadn’t noticed before. Their face was _fucked—_ there were bruises and stitches and their lip was actively bleeding— and it looked like they’d been crying for a while.

“Someone,” he corrected. They gave him an up-and-down, and he pegged them at like… twenty, at the oldest. They were swimming in a grey and purple pullover, and jeans that hung off their skinny ass.

“You a Saint?”

“What?” He knew what they were asking, but it was weirdly intimidating to think he might be talking to an original Stilwater Saint. The Luchadores were crooked— drugs, robberies, gang violence— but they hadn’t started from the bottom. Him and Eddie had already been Big Names when they founded the crew. The Saints had to do shit that hadn’t been a reality for him and Eddie since they turned pro.

“You heard me man. You a Saint or you just got a favourite colour?” At the very least, this beansprout of a kid wasn’t gunna be Julius.

“I’m a Saint.” It didn’t sit oddly anymore. In the beginning it felt blasphemous to not introduce himself as a Luchador. Even knowing that one day he was gunna rip Killbane’s shit fucking head off his cock-gargling shoulders, there was a loyalty there to _his_ crew. Now, he figured whatever was left of his crew was either watching him negotiate with this teenager, or in a slime pod.

“Who you looking for?” God they even had one of those crooked flat brims.

“Fang Lee.” She was a Saint, so she’d be on the Row. Either there or maybe Chinatown— her dad had friends there. All else failed she’d mentioned Southern Cross, where her mami knew people. He… _could_ try the address of her house. He knew it, just not if Mami and Baba had always lived there.

There was suddenly a pistol aimed at his forehead. “The fuck you want with Fang?”

“This how you treat Saints?” he asked, something bothering him about the way this kid stood. He got the weird feeling like they should’ve been taller— maybe they were holding the gun wrong. They tilted it to the side— maybe that was it.

“You ain’t no fucking Saint. Now I’m not asking again—” Oh.

Oh.

_Oh._

He slipped into Spanish, hoping to put her at ease since she clearly didn’t recognise him. “I’m a Saint, Fang, I swear.”

“You sure, ‘cuz it’s real easy for some Carnales fuck to put on a purple sweater.” She responded in English, which he figured was a pretty solid rejection of that shared avenue. He didn’t know any Mandarin to try.

“You don’t know me?” It sounded kind of manipulative in retrospect— to someone who didn’t recognise him anyway— but he wasn’t under the impression that this was how it was supposed to go. Oleg had warned him that she might look different— and jesus was that ever fucking true, to the point where he was pretty sure she’d shoot him on the ship just to make sure no one ever knew that she wore jeans like that— but to not know who he was would complicate things.

Maybe not as much as it would for her to know him on sight, but…

“If I fucking knew you I’d say so—”

“Angel. The wrestler from Steelport?” _Your boyfriend, kind of._

“Where the fuck is Steelport?” She lowered her gun a little, mostly out of confusion, like she’d genuinely never heard of the place… which was weird, because it was _somewhere_ in her brain. He hadn’t known Oleg when he got unmasked, but he’d _recognised_ him in the simulation.

“Why don’t you remember Steelport? You had me and Oleg and Kinzie and Viola—”

“Shut up,” she snapped, raising the gun again. The simulation blinked for a second, and Angel figured that it was trying to actively _suppress_ memories of Steelport. He couldn’t place why, unless it was specifically to keep him from interfering. She’d briefed him once on the original Saints— the Boss who’d tried to kill her, the undercover cop, the guy who turned his back on them, and Gat. He didn’t _see_ anyone who looked like Johnny Gat around, which meant that Fang was pretty much alone.

“Pierce and Shaundi were there too, do you remember them?” he asked. They weren’t original Saints— she’d met them after becoming the Boss officially— but maybe they’d be easier for her to remember, since she _had_ known them in Stilwater.

“Shut _up_ about Steelport—” He was certain for a second that she was gunna pull the trigger and splatter his fucking brains all over the sidewalk— would that kill him? Probably, as Kinzie _had_ kind of warned him not to die.

Luckily before she managed, a Raycaster pulled up. “The fuck are you doing kid?” A guy in a crooked purple visor was driving, and staring at Fang half-annoyed. From what he knew about her, this would be her opportunity to finish the job and move on to whatever this guy wanted from her— instead, she lowered the gun. In lieu of answering, she shrugged sullenly. Whoever he was, she didn’t seem like she wanted to get him involved.

“Sorry Dex.”

“Fuck your sorries. We found Johnny— me and Troy’s crew got the Kings pinned down outside, but we need someone to go in and get our boy out.” Without a word, Fang hopped in his car. “You bringing this guy or what?”

“Why bother?” Fang obviously wanted to leave Angel behind, but the purple seemed to work in the simulation— ‘Dex’ recognised him as a Saint without question, and Fang didn’t seem up to arguing the point now that Johnny had been mentioned.

“Cuz he’s big and your skinny ass is gunna get shot full of lead trying to take Tony on your own. Let’s go,” he gestured impatiently at Angel, who got in the backseat. “You armed?” Dex asked him, and he shook his head. “I got guns under the seat. Once you’re in there you’re gunna get hit with the brunt of King’s forces— can’t really be helped, since the guy we replaced Tanya’s driver with got caught. We _know_ Tony is up there with Johnny, but not what he’s packin’.”

“I can handle it,” Fang offered. She sounded kinda distant.

“You better, or else Gat’s dead.”

The rest of the drive was jarringly short, but silent. Fang didn’t make conversation with Dex, and even stranger she didn’t turn up the radio. She just kinda stared out the window and watched the dirty streets roll by. Once they found the building they were looking for— marked by the shoot-out happening on the front steps— they were in a much nicer part of the city. “Let’s go then,” Fang said in Spanish, opening the door.

Dex didn’t follow, but Angel was only a few steps behind her as she ducked into the front doors. The fight didn’t last long, but he hadn’t expected it to— Fang was deadly accurate, and anyone who got in close was immediately driven to the floor. It was how they operated.

What didn’t make sense was how quiet she was. He couldn’t shut her up on the best of days, but she’d shut down completely when Dex had shown up. He was just about to ask what was going on, when she answered without prompting. “He’s dead,” she told him, gathering ammo off of bodies.

“Who is?”

“Johnny. Tony blew his brains out.” He frowned. “I’ve done this a thousand times. This is the first time you’ve been here, but Johnny’s always dead before I even find Tony.”

“It’s not real,” he told her, and she shrugged.

“Does it matter?” It was a weird question— Fang’s ‘serious’ moods were usually part rage, but she just seemed… tired. Scared. “I keep going up there and Johnny keeps getting dead. Tony fucks me up, I wake up in front of the church and wait for Dex to pull up.”

“It does fucking matter, Fang. This is all a simulation— we have to leave.”

“Will leaving save Johnny?” she asked. He didn’t respond, and she shrugged again. “I might save him here once. If this is the only shot I got, then I’m gunna take it.”

So they had to save Johnny, which wasn’t gunna work because she said he was always dead by the time she got up there. It’d be one thing if she could see it happen, but if she always found a corpse it meant that his death was part of the nightmare. Maybe if they managed to kill Tony she’d come to her senses.

He followed her to the elevators wordlessly, at least comfortable knowing that she’d given up trying to shoot him. He could forgive her for being on edge, what with the whole nightmare scenario. He hadn’t attacked Oleg when he found him in the simulation; he’d been confused as hell because Eddie had unmasked him years before he met the Saints, but watching Oleg crush Eddie’s skull was weirdly satisfying. Remembering how much he wanted it reminded him that he was a Saint— he’d been unmasked for years and it was nothing that Zinyak could hold over him.

“Is Steelport nice?” she asked him over the silence. Tony was on the top floor and the elevator was slow— presumably to give Johnny time to die.

“I thought it was all right. Better when you showed up.” He wasn’t sure how comfortable he was having _that_ conversation with a younger Fang. He would have pegged her at like, eighteen at the oldest, which wasn’t his thing. _Barely Legal_ had always seemed kinda tasteless to him.

“What’s that mean?”

“How old are you right now?”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Plenty.”

“Just turned twenty,” she told him. She wasn’t nearly as tall as he expected, but he figured she was also slouching and wearing flat shoes. Maybe with some heels and a badder attitude…

“Ask me again when you’re older.” She was more than legal but not old enough that he was okay starting a conversation about how they knew each other.

“Fuck you.” He snorted a little because that sounded more like her.

The elevator opened and they fought their way through an obnoxiously open-concept apartment. A big man with an SMG came at Fang and she turned her full attention to him. Angel kept the handful of grunts remaining off of her— it felt weirdly reminiscent of Murderbrawl, although his kneebone didn’t feel like it was jutting out of his fucking thigh— and the heavy thud behind him indicated that they’d won.

He turned around and Fang’s chest was heaving— which was kind of hard to tell under the fucking _layers_ of sweater she had on, which he was working to erase from his memory like he was certain she would insist he do later. “I told you,” she snapped, turning on him now. “We killed Tony and Johnny’s still fucking dead.” Her eyes were shining and her voice was all choked.

She spun on her heel and moved to where the man he assumed was Gat was tied to a chair. There was a bullet hole in his forehead and some broken glasses laid crushed beside his body. Fang untied him with the skill of someone who’d done it before— _had_ she gotten this far before?— and she brought the corpse up to lean on her.

God, she was crying. He figured this version of Fang— the beat up kid who just… needed other people so badly that she couldn’t keep it under wraps— was infinitely scarier than the Fang with a gun and an anger problem would ever be. She just wrapped her arms around Gat, crying into his neck like she didn’t even care if Angel saw…

“What really happened, Fang?” he asked, crouching beside her.

“The fuck are you _talking_ about?” she demanded with her face still hidden.

“You’re alive right now, which means that Tony never killed you. I _know_ Gat lived through this… so how did he do it?” Her back was to him so he couldn’t see what look she was giving him, but he didn’t think she was strictly listening.

“Does it _matter?_ I asked you before if leaving would save Johnny, and you didn’t say a fucking thing. If he dies anyway, then what’s the fucking point?” Her voice was shaking, and this was starting to look like _his_ nightmare. He didn’t know what to do with regular crying Fang let alone a twenty year old crying Fang.

“You wouldn’t take a few more years of having him alive?” he asked, and she froze. “You wouldn’t take five more minutes of him being alive if that’s all you got?” He moved so she was facing him, trying to ignore the puffy face and the… sobbing… “What _happened_ here, Fang?”

She moved Gat closer, but took a breath. “I was the one Julius sent to replace Tanya’s driver, not Dex’s crew. When I got up here Tony shot at him, but he flipped the chair. It missed him, I walked in and took everyone out. Once everyone stopped moving he yelled at me to untie him.” Johnny shifted against her and she let out a watery sigh.

“Hey fuck off,” the banger muttered, and she laughed. Angel backed up while she helped him stand— he put too much weight on his bum leg and shouted in pain before she helped him right himself. He really didn’t look anything like Angel had pictured him— or even like he’d seen around Planet Saints. Apparently looking like a baby gangster as a kid wasn’t an exclusively Fang thing— Gat had frosted tips. “Where’s Green?” he demanded, his voice raw.

Fang gestured over to his dead body and Gat took the gun off her hip to empty the round into him. He handed her the gun back and she didn’t bother to reload. “Hey let’s get you back to the church. Don’t tell Eesh I told you, but she’s going crazy worrying about you.”

“What’s there to worry about?” he asked, then spotted Angel. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Like I fucking know. Don’t worry ‘bout him, let’s go before more fucking Kings show up.”Angel followed them downstairs and watched her as she let Dex drive him to the hospital. She stood there as Saints filed away, seemingly unconcerned with getting caught at a major crime scene— then again, she was aware that none of this was real.

“So… losing Johnny is your nightmare?” he asked. He hadn’t realised she was this wounded when they met— maybe by then she was already so used to being the Boss and not letting people know.

“He told me to bail,” she said quietly. “After Tony shot him in the knee, he threw himself at him with a knife and yelled at me to go. I just went.” Shaundi had said something like that about the plane when she was drunk once. “People die for me. Johnny died for me— has _almost_ died for me a thousand times. Shaundi’s almost died because of me. Carlos died because of me.” He didn’t know who Carlos was, but had been briefed on the _A-ha_ rule inspired by him. Shaundi had just grimly shook her head when pressed for details.

“It’s because you make people care about you by caring about them,” he offered. He knew firsthand that it was true, and didn’t think any Saint would disagree.

“I stayed here for so long… I kept living this over and over again because I kept telling myself that at least in this world I can bury Johnny. Even if I hate myself for letting him die, I can see him. I can hold him and know that I can take care of his body the way he fucking deserves after everything he’s done for me.”

“You did just fine in the real world. You don’t have to keep beating yourself up about what Killbane and Loren did,” he told her firmly. He knew what it was like to let someone else’s fuck up ruin your whole life.

“Like I’m gunna sit here and get lectured by _you.”_ She gave him a _look_ and as the simulation spluttered to a halt around them, he figured she’d finally remembered who he was.

. . . . .

He was in the hold when Fang got on the ship, and didn’t see her until about two hours later. The goo was washed off and she had one of the weird jumpsuits on— it looked all right on her, honestly. She stood in front of him with her arms folded. “I like what you did with your hair,” he told her. It was like a bob now, instead of the sloppy bun she’d put it up in (not that he wasn’t a fan of that look too).

“Shut the fuck up about my hair,” she snapped, and he put his hands up. He’d thought it was a pretty good opening line, but what had he ever known? “You get Killbane?” she asked.

“You know I did.” Like he didn’t know she’d shown up to every Murderbrawl after he left. Like _her_ of all people could travel incognito, like he didn’t _know_ that the woman terrified of planes made the trip every _year_ to watch him win.

“Just wanted you to say out loud that you were fucking avoiding me.” He inclined his head, then stood up. He got in a bit closer, as a sort of show of submission. Sure, he was a close range fighter, but she had the stronger personality. Once he was in range of her, she was the boss. It was just how it worked with them.

“I was. I wanted you to know I was mad because I didn’t think there was any way you could make it up to me. After being abducted, locked in my own nightmare, and then busting you out of yours? I think I can safely say I don’t care anymore. I’m sorry I never called.” He kept his voice even and his eye contact steady, half because he wanted her to know he was serious and half because he knew it drove her up the wall when she was pissed off and he was calm.

And was she ever fucking _pissed._ For two seconds it looked like she was gunna take him to the ground, then she just kind of… threw out her hands. “Then you went and did that and I don’t know what to say now! I stomped in here thinking you were gunna stand your ground then you just—” She lost words and just gestured at him furiously.

“I should have called you when I knew Shaundi and Viola were in danger, and that’s what you let Killbane go for. You weren’t wrong.” She glared and he put out his hands again. “I’m gunna step closer.”

“Go the fuck ahead I guess, now that I have no fucking reason to be pissed off.” She folded her arms over her chest and didn’t relent even as he got within muttering distance. Her head did snap down to the floor, like she was done making eye contact with him.

“You can be as pissed off as you want. I’m ready if you decide you’re not anymore.” He didn’t really know what he actually meant by that, and he could tell she didn’t either. They’d been apart longer than they were together, and a lot of their togetherness consisted of some self-conscious _are-we-aren’t-we?_ They were friends for a while, but friendship with the people they were had been hard. Boss was raw about Johnny and trying to keep it together, and he was just an open wound waiting to be poked at.

“All right, you can back off now because I’m still really fucked up from the whole nightmare thing and I’m not thinking straight,” she said, and he did what she asked. “I’m gunna go be pissed off in my room now.”

“You have a room?”

“It’s a big fucking ship man. You could have one too, Kinzie just said this is where you hang out now.” She wasn’t moving and he stayed where he was.

“There’s a couch here. I’m good.”

“Hanging out of the highest tech spaceship in the fucking world and you’re still slumming it.” She shook her head then turned and left. He watched her til he couldn’t see her over the staircase and once the sound of her heels (where’d she even _find_ heels?) faded, he flopped back on the couch.

So he was still messed up about her. All right. He could work with that. He’d been messed up for most of his fucking life, so at least this time he had a reason besides _vengeance._ Kinda fucking relieving to be messed up about something he could maybe make good again.

He heard her heels when she came back, but kept his arm over his eyes. “Forget something?” he asked, and felt her sit on his stomach. _That_ was a little weird so he looked up at her and found her glaring again. She squeezed his face _(god_ he hated when she did that).

“Angel,” she said fiercely, with the Spanish pronunciation she usually didn’t bother with. She continued in Spanish so she probably meant business. “You will erase all fucking traces of the fucking outfit you saw me in from your brain or I swear to _god_ I will have Kinzie do it manually. Do you understand me?”

He swatted her hand away, but light enough that she didn’t misinterpret the gesture. “I think your suit is unzipped enough right now that I couldn’t remember what you looked like before even if you wanted me to,” he assured her.

“You’re fucking right it is,” she warned, then slid off and stomped away again. Once she was gone— for real this time— he sighed and rubbed his eyes.

Still messed up. All right.

**Author's Note:**

> [My writing blog is here](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com) and this fic set out to fix a few glaring errors in SR4.
> 
> 1) The president thing. Hate it.  
> 2) _One_ SR3 LT living. Like no. Thanks.  
>  3) The Boss' lame ass nightmare. Like okay "Leave It To The Saints" is a joke along with the entire alien plot line and all but you can't drop the fucking plane crash on me in Shaundi's nightmare and then try and tell me "haha just fun and games here in Saints Row 4" like no. If she gets to be fucked up about it then so do I.
> 
> And like, there's some Angel x Boss thrown in because I never learn my lesson and indeed refuse to. And by "some" I mean "the entire fic is predicated on a past relationship between Angel and Fang" and honestly I meant to write this after also doing a Murderbrawl and End of SR3 fic but that didn't happen clearly and so...
> 
> Plus I don't think I can really get through in a fic how much Fang needs Johnny to not be dead. To be more alive. To be less dead and more alive, frankly. Like esp as I was kind of trucking through SR1 recently (my xbox is at home so that's on pause for now) and this quest hit me right in the gut because I mean.... it's literally the plane crash. The parallel is dramatic-- Johnny makes himself a target to distract from the Boss (which he definitely does when Tony kidnaps him-- makes himself a target and disarms himself to distract from the unarmed baby gangster who got pistol whipped) and tells them to bail at great personal cost. He gets his leg shot in 1 and dies in 3. 
> 
> Which I mean is probs why Fang is having a nightmare about Tony and not about Loren because it hits her that Johnny keeps getting fucked up for her and when he got the absolute most fucked up he could possibly be, she had no body to bury and could do nothing to repay him for it besides some astonishingly hands-off revenge. Like yeah okay dropping a ball on Loren is fine and all but also like we buried Shojo alive so I know we can get much darker... and Killbane gets away entirely to save Shaundi. Not to mention she was super young when Tony went down so it was kind of formative in a fucked up way to see someone she respected as much as Johnny sacrifice himself for her and then be fucked up about it (because Johnny was SUPER fucked up about it).
> 
> So like... I guess my point is that sometimes nothing is coming up Milhouse and your best friend is dead and you're in space with your ex-boyfriend.


End file.
